(Un)Bidden Ventures
by 7Blaze
Summary: [Dead] A young man from the 2940s in the universe of the United Empire of Earth is summoned to a world over a dozen centuries younger in technological development, which is supplemented by, of all things, magic. With catastrophe a near certainty in the future, the denizens will have to rely on this outsider more than any would like – especially the man himself.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE: Walk It Off  
** {Day 0, 2335 approx.}

 _This place…_

 _What?_

 _Where?_

 _Why?_ _How?_

He walked slowly, bare feet sorely slapping the hard ground. The light was faint and apparently indirect, though the walkway was spacious. He was half-clothed— not that he was aware. Thoughts of his state of decency stayed at the back of his mind. Thoughts of hunger, thirst, weariness, confusion and loneliness, among others, took precedence.

The pain was so numbing that he didn't care about anything— couldn't, aside from his needs. The man's right arm hung limply at his side, dripping blood from the shoulder. For some reason, his left knee was stiff; he could hardly walk straight. Some kind of liquid rolled from his brow to the tip of his nose, dripping onto his parched, cracked lips. His torso was bleeding in at least four different places. Probably more.

 _Is this familiar? Maybe –_ _eh, more likely not_ _. Is there anyone here besides me? I need to know. But, also: what, where, why and how is this place here?_

He kept moving forward, occasionally stepping sideways to note the size of the walkway. His vision was blurry and his legs ached from extensive use. The waves of pain accompanying each step brought about an unbearable headache, to boot.

—~—

 _Wha…?_

 _What's this now? Wait, grass?_

 _Is this grass?_ _How?_

 _How can there be greenery in the middle of a tunnel? Unless this is the exit, or not what I thought it was…_

 _But that doesn't explain why I can't see it._

 _This seems too dark for nighttime…_ _unless it's a forest?_

 _Or are my eyes worse off than I thought?_

His helmet was still covering his head, barely attached to what remained of his flight suit, dimming his vision in its unpowered state.

He realised that he was on his knees when his hands brushed the ground. The grass was damp with dew, soothing to his touch. He enjoyed the sensations brought by the new textures for a while.

Then, he noticed something. Or, rather some thing _s_.

 _It seems too quiet to be outside, but, if I look above where the horizon should be, I can see some stars… barely._

 _I hear no insects chirping, no night-birds whistling… see nothing moving like an animal does._

 _But… I see dim stars and faint silhouettes. A field?_

He completely missed the two moons behind him as he picked himself up again and resumed limping forward.

—~~—

 _Faint voices, as if distant – but perhaps directed to me. I can't understand them, don't know what they want… Their owners look strange – who wears ancient-Earth-style mail armour in the thirtieth century?_

He stopped completely when they were within their polearms' reach. They tried to talk to him again, but he wouldn't have understood them at this point, even if they were speaking his native language. After a few minutes, they gave up on talking and organised themselves so that one supported him on their shoulder and the other carrying both weapons, watched out for danger to the exhausted man and the other guard. Before he saw whatever or wherever they were taking him to, his eyelids refused to open and his mind finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

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* * *

 **A/N:**

 **~ Here is the introduction of what once was 'something different'.**

 **[Fixed the middle section.]**


	2. Strange New World

**ONE: Strange New World  
** {Day 1, 1308}

 _Gah. Bright sun… Where now? Bedroom. Stone and timber. You're here? … Huh. __White bedsheets, unusual mattress._ _Definitely got the unusual bit right._

 _Stained oak four-post bed, armoire opposite, window to left, door to far right, bare table between bed and door. Likely in a cylindrical building – a tower of sorts – that could be part of an ancient-style castle or similar structure (the same period as the armour, I believe)._

 _Fun._

 _Just what I wanted: an ancient civilisation's abandoned settlement or nation – or, heck, even planet – that's been rebuilt by random crazies or wannabe pioneers or something._ _No, probably not that. You're jumping to conclusions. Look._ _Where?_ _Around._ _Fine. Was going to do that anyway._

Throwing off the covers and getting up from his prone position on the bed, he realised that he had been stripped of his jacket, pants, underpants and boots (as well as his helmet), but his blue-tinged carbon-weave undershirt was still covering his torso. He began to move around the room, observing and examining what he could of it.

The lamp had an old-fashioned look to it, but didn't seem to use electricity or a wick like a candle. Moving closer for better examination, the armoire seemed to be handcrafted – the dowelling was noticeable and the design was suitably detailed yet simple – but the window panes provided a much clearer view than he thought was possible with handmade glass, even though it was a leadlight design. Overall, the room had a surprisingly homely and comfortable atmosphere despite its spartanly adorned stone walls, mundane wood flooring and standard-fare furniture.

Out the window, he could see nondescript green plains for a few kilometres that ended with a dense forest. _Interesting._ _Mmm-hm…_

He returned to the armoire and found it unlocked. The interior was bare, of course. Leaning against it, on the far side from the bed, was a tall mirror. He looked at his reflection and let his mouth curl in a small half-smile as he examined himself.

 _Two dark brown eyes –_ _one centrally heterochromic with hazel_ – _under slightly thick eyebrows, a straight-bridged snub nose between, a sharp-edged mouth above a slightly cleft chin on a strong jawline._ _You sound really weird doing this._ _I know, I know…_

 _You'd be better off confirming you have 'angular features, dark heterochromic eyes and a snub nose under a shock of dark hair swept to the right'._

—~—

He was comparing the feel of the curtains to that of the carpet when he heard footsteps outside the door that came to a halt well before any other feet had. As he wondered at what would happen, the doorknob rattled and a mechanical lock was opened. Hurriedly, he pulled the sheets from the bed and swept them about him like a towel at the waist – more for the sake of whomever was entering than himself – as the door slowly opened and a figure much shorter than himself entered the room.

The figure wore a flowing grey cloak with deep hood over whatever clothes they were wearing, preventing him from seeing any details of their appearance beyond their smooth-skinned hands and slightly pointed chin. A small cry of surprise was accompanied by a hand raised to the mouth and a motion as if to reach for something – _a weapon?_ – that clearly wasn't there. He put a small smile on his face as he tried to figure out what he should say, as well as if he were to speak at all.

The minor dilemma was solved by the cloaked figure turning 'round and exiting the room hastily, despite his exclaiming " _Wait! Don't—"_ and extending his hand. Ignoring his cry, the billowing cloak and its wearer took their leave – almost slamming the door, if it weren't for something arresting its motion at the last second.

He sighed and sat down on the bed. Suddenly, he remembered that his mobiGlas was still attached to his left forearm. The unit was damaged – scarred and even dented – but it was mostly superficial harm and didn't affect how fast it activated. Booting up took all of six seconds, including a half-second showing the microTech logo and then a brief loading screen – simply a thin progress bar – before the home menu came into view on the holographic display with a flash of cool white and blue. His bionic eye ran through its connection sequences and confirmed synchronisation accurate to .00025 seconds.

 _Okay, what can this thing tell me about my surroundings?_

 _Time based off of local noon._ _Figured._

 _Current atmospheric variables such as pressure, humidity and temperature (all within this room at the moment, of course)._ _Hm. Could be useful._

 _Approximate level of functionality of wearer's various body parts and time since last consumption of nutrition._ _Beneficial, but not my surroundings._ _Just wanted to point it out._ _Mmn._

 _Basic information on people that have come in contact with itself since its wearer fell unconscious._ _Really? That's helpful._ _Especially since it can compare visual data from the bionic eye and the data it received upon contact to provide approximate matches._ _**Very**_ _helpful, then._

 _Approximate location of objects/subjects of interest based off of RADAR/SODAR, infrared scanning and passive non-lethal emission of ultrahigh-frequency (x-ray to gamma) electromagnetic radiation. Generally accurate to 0.25 metres._ _Complex. And rather useful._ _It's like a mini-map._ _That's one way to think about it, I guess. Does that mean it appears on the HUD as such?_ _Yeah. Though, you have to select it for it to be active._ _Okay. Anything else?_

 _Mm-hm. Spectrometer. Accelerometer. Seismometer. Geiger counter. Inclinometer. Laser speedometer. Thermal imaging system. Photometer. A bunch of other -meters._ _I doubt I'll need more than half of the ones you listed._ _That's why I stopped listing them._ _Heh._

He shook his head to refocus on his surroundings as more sounds reached his ears. Subdued voices filtered through from behind the door. _At least two, no more than five._ _Likely one female, others male._ _Presumably non-threats, with consideration of the previous encounter._

—~~~—

{Day 1, 0718}

"Hey, there, Vallière! Where's your familiar? Oh, that's right! Your Summon Servant spell _didn't work_. Just like every other spell you've tried, Zero."

"Shut it, harlot."

"Now, now! Don't be so mean, Zero! She's a much more skilful mage than you could _ever_ be."

"Like you're one to talk, Miss Bed-Flooder."

" **Miss Vallière!** That is no way to talk to a fellow noble! Apologise to her, immediately."

"But, Professor—"

"I know, but you mustn't insult in return. Regarding that: Miss Montmorency, do not go riling up other students. And _before_ you say anything, I know _exactly_ what was said – as well as each speaker's intent. Now, apologise, both of you."

"I…apologise, Montmorency."

"… I apologise for my conduct as well, Vallière."

"Good… Louise? Can I have a word?"

"Y-Yes… Professor."

"Go on to breakfast, now, Miss Montmorency, Miss Zerbst."

"Yes, Professor…"

"Goodbye, Louise. Farewell, Professor."

"…"

"Ah, don't worry, Louise, this isn't about your troubles… I know the headmaster wished for this to be declared publicly at a later hour in the day, but I wanted to inform you ahead of time. Late last night, two guards at the end of their patrol found something unusual – rather, some **one** unusual."

"Some _one_? …What are you implying, Professor?"

"I saw, not too long after all of your fellow second-year students left with their familiars, a very large magic portal appear high in the air above the grounds of the day's summons. Out of it flew a great steel beast of unusual shape – though it must have been unconscious or injured, as it fell into the forest with a great crash."

"What? Ah– pardon my bluntness, but what? how? and why?"

"Mmn. I could hardly believe my eyes, but the workers had seen it themselves and almost panicked. Chef Marteau calmed them all down as I tried to contact the headmaster – I wanted to lead a search party to see it. Osmond declined the request, saying we should wait. Now, it appears waiting was the right thing to do: the person the guards encountered was wearing what looked like a suit for riding the beast, though he was rather wounded from the crash."

"Is…? Could he…?"

"I do not know what he could be, why he is here or how he got here for certain – but I have a few guesses… Come now, you must be off to breakfast."

"O-of course, Professor. Good day, Professor."

—~~~—

{Day 1, 1325}

The door slowly opened and three rather different people all in robes stepped in, standing in two lines – one in front of the others. None were the same as the first he met, he knew immediately.

The one in front was an elder man of average height with gnarled long-fingered hands and a large white beard complemented by even longer white hair. The purple-robed man to the left was a bit taller than the older one, with pianist's hands, a balding head, blue eyes and a sharp jaw that ended in a cleft chin. The woman standing to the right had long green hair, glasses that seemed fond of catching the light in front of brown eyes and a smooth jaw with slightly rounded chin point.

He stood up as they entered, hiding his mobiGlas from view within the folds of the blankets. With a brief moment of silence, the elder man – clearly the leader – attempted to speak to him. It was a familiar language, but one he hadn't heard in a long while. _What is it…?_ _French – a rather old variation._ _Really? Oh, yeah – I understand him. I guess learning a few European-origin languages was a good idea._ _Mmm-hm… He's repeated the same thing a few times._ _Yeah: 'Can you understand me?', 'Do you speak our language?' et cetera._

"Euh, hello." he said in their language, unintentionally cutting off the elder. "May I ask where I am?"

"So you _do_ speak our tongue," the leftmost breathed. "Oh, pardon me."

"Mmm. You speak our language but do not know where you are? Interesting."

"I know my surroundings are not like any I have seen. When I jumped from Genesis, I expected to end up in Corel. Not…ah, wherever _this_ is," he said, gesturing broadly about himself.

"This is the Tristain Academy of Magic in the Kingdom of Tristain," the wizened leader answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. "…I have never heard of this 'Corel' before, unless you mean the land of Rub' al Khali?" _Ah, the Empty Quarter. An old erg on the Arabian Peninsula._ _Really? Huh._

"No, I haven't heard of that place before."

There was a contemplative hum from both men. The woman spoke up then: "May we know your name, young man?"

"Jacob. Jacob Arken," he answered without hurry. "May I know yours?"

She paused a moment, glancing to the leader – who nodded briefly – before answering. "I am Miss Longueville."

"My name is Colbert."

"And I am known as Old Osmond. I must ask this: if you are not from the east, where, then are you from, Mister Arken?"

The young man raised a hand briefly in an apologetic gesture, saying, "Ah, I would prefer no honourifics for myself, sir – but, I believe you could say I am from further east than the Empty Quarter. A distance many month's travel, even by air."

"Interesting… "

—~~~—

{Day 1, 2201}

Jacob examined his undershirt. It was an ultralightweight carbon nanofibre weave sleeveless garment that had survived three crashes – _four, now_ – and had survived each undamaged. It was rather strange, since it hadn't been touted as crash-proof; it wasn't even designed to be bullet- or stab-proof. It just so happened that the material was rather durable and was always underneath his flight suits – which had at least three-shot protection from medium-power small arms.

 _Funny how this is pretty much all I have, now. Of course, they'll happily provide me with other clothes, but this is the only thing that reminds me of where I'm from._ _That and your mobi._ _Mmh, yeah._

Longueville and Colbert had been the most interesting of the staff members to the nineteen-year-old pilot. The green-haired woman and balding professor were the only ones in the room that he was certain had recent combat experience (recent being relative, the fifty-something professor said he'd been teaching for nearly two decades and declared a dislike of war). Obviously, they were all capable in magic – it wouldn't make sense for teachers to not be skilled in what they were teaching – but the fire-inclined middle-aged man and the surprisingly youthful earth-aligned deputy head were quite physically fit as well. Colbert, specifically, had the eyes of someone who had seen some nasty things. They were a universal kind of gaze. _Some eyes hide it better than others, like Colbert's and Uncle's, but it's still there._

Satisfied that the fabric needed no maintenance, Jacob slipped his undershirt on again and stepped clear of the bed. He had realised a few hours ago that his daily fitness regime was disrupted by the events of yesterday – but that had been during dinner, something he never interrupted out of habit, so he decided to wait until later to perform his exercise for the evening.

Without any further pause, he dropped into a push-up position and pumped out a score of diamond-pattern push-ups. It was then that he remembered his arms and legs were bionic – the entire limbs – and didn't need such exercise. Thusly, he adjusted his workout to accommodate that factor.

The young man adjusted his position so that his forearms rested on the floor and began executing a plank hold.

 _…forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight…_

 _…one fifteen, one sixteen, one seventeen, one eighteen, one nineteen – hundred twenty._ Jacob paused to rest after that, before moving to start butterfly crunches.

—~~—

As he lay in the bed provided for him, Jacob pondered a few things.

He had quickly realised he was unarmed. This was something to be remedied, although such would be difficult this early on. Obviously, few would understand why he wanted to be armed, especially while recovering, but the handful of days he had ever been without a weapon in the past three years had all been very bad days.

Also, he had realised that the Academy he was staying in would have healers – people that would have been either confused or scared about his limbs not being made of flesh. There were a few stories to make up about that. Tell them he knew an earth mage, thus the mechanical limbs, while he only knew spells that improved his own physical abilities – probably wind affinity. Or he could simply say that he wasn't from this world at all. _Maybe I'll tell the headmaster the truth – but only the headmaster._ _I would suggest Professor Colbert and the deputy head as well._ _Mmh…_

He wondered, as well, about what had brought him here, but figured the answer to that would come in its own time.

* * *

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* * *

 **A/N:**

 **~ Criticisms are always welcome. Tell me if I'm doing this well, more than just a favourite and/or follow if you will.**

 **~ This _will_ be different from the canon storylines, seeing as Miss Vallière's summons didn't work quite the way anyone expected. One day can mean a _lot_.**

 **~ I will try my best to be accurate/precise in calculations and comparisons, as well as in the estimations that will be doubtless necessary for this story. If, however, something is blatantly incorrect, send me a PM and I'll get it fixed as soon as I can.**


	3. Brand New Day

**TWO: Brand New Day  
** {Day 2, 0547}

Jacob rose before the sun, as he often did when planetside. Unlike a number of his family members, the young man was a morning person – when he woke up, he was out of bed in six seconds every time. It meant that he remembered exactly where he was this particular morning, as well.

 _Morning, Bastien._ _Morning. Ready for a day of info-gathering?_ _Ahh, yup. Subtlety, you think?_ _Can't afford to be blatant, can you?_ _True, true._

He stretched and cracked his back before dropping to do a score of crunches – every morning, he tried to fit in at least one set. With that done, he decided to see if he was able to get out of the room. Jacob had heard the mechanical sounds of a lock both times people had entered the room, but wasn't sure just how complex or sturdy it was.

His first test of the door's lock was to simply grasp the doorknob and see if it worked. Funnily enough, it did. The bolt _thunk_ ed open as he turned the handle and he was suddenly able to swing the door wide. After his initial surprise at the test working, he slowly closed it again and turned back to the room. While he had an undershirt that could pass as suitable clothing, he had nothing to speak of by way of leg-wear aside from a pair of threadbare grey boxers that would be translucent if they were any more worn out.

 _What do you think would be best, Bastien?_ _You could wrap one of the sheets about your waist, like you do when you've had a shower._ _Yeah, I guess._ _It's that, or you wait for somebody to step in with a change of clothes. Aside from other methods of tying said bedsheet, that is._ _True._

Consultations with the AI inside his head done, Jacob pulled the bedsheets off the bed and repurposed one of them for use as a waist cover. The others were returned to the bed, noting it was what he would sleep on for the foreseeable future.

A glance at his reflection showed him just how strangely appealing the makeshift skirt was; somehow, he pulled the look off. The young man shook his head before turning again to the door. He opened it more carefully than he had, wincing at the amount of noise the mechanism made, before peeking outside for a few moments to note the number of people out. Seeing as the sky was still the red of dawn, there was no face to be seen. After confirming the lack of bystanders, Jacob stepped out of his room and began to pace the tower, memorising which room was his, the number of rooms on the same level and getting an idea of the general layout of the whole Academy through the windows.

From what he could see, the complex was shaped like a pentagon – or, perhaps more accurately, a pentagram. There was a not-inconsiderable chance that there were underground rooms, but, considering the equivalent historical period, they were likely not very important. His room was situated on the third floor of the tower from the top, judging from observation of the other towers.

The amount of time he had was limited, seeing as the sun had now risen high enough to shine in through the windows about him. Noting that, Jacob moved more quickly and decisively, trying to glean as much information from observation as he could before asking someone. His bare feet made surprisingly little noise on the hard floor, though it didn't bother him – it actually let him know when people began moving about. He slipped back into his room just as the first of the attendants stepped onto the landing.

The young man then paused to further examine the room he was in.

—~~—

{0645}

A knock at the door preceded the entry of what Jacob believed to be one of the servants that the school employed. _Probably fifteen, sixteen years of age; dark hair, somewhat Asian features, blue eyes._ _Non-threat, most likely._ _Mmh._

"Euh, hello sir. I was asked to leave these with you…" she said, raising a small folded pile of clothes to her eye level to explain her words. _Her voice is almost surprisingly happy._ _Respond already!_

He shook himself from his thoughts and said, "Ah, yes. Over there, if you will…" before returning to them. His gesture quite broadly covered everything from the bedside to the small dining table; she placed the pile on the edge of the bed.

"Is that all? Sir?"

"Mmh?" He glanced back to her, distracted. "Oh, yes, yes – but, I must ask for you to not mention me to anyone. It would be unwise for rumours to spread about a foreign visitor that the headmaster has not actually spoken of to the students or staff."

She nodded vigorously. "Of course. Good day."

"Goodbye…" The young man saw her leave from the corner of his eye, but he remained focused on what he saw out the window. Something had caught his eye – something at the edge of the forest. A dark blur, like a cave's mouth, but sunken into flat ground.

 _Strange. If that's what I think it might be… Bastien?_ _Perhaps. You'll have to wait and see what else happens in regards to your arrival first._ _Yeah._

—~~—

{0711}

Three people stood in the room now. Jacob, wearing the flight suit returned to him (which had repaired itself, to the surprise of the people who had been trying to fix it); Headmaster Osmond with what appeared to be his pet mouse ( _A magical familiar, perhaps?_ ) on his shoulder and Professor Colbert, now openly holding a staff ( _His primary magic focus, I think_ ). They talked about what was to happen and what had happened – how to introduce the young man, a nineteen-year-old pilot from an alternate universe, as well as how he had arrived (which none of them could be certain of).

"Something silver-blue?" Colbert inquired, wondering just what the young man meant.

Jacob nodded. "Ouais. Normally when jumping you can see many colours around you because of how fast you're travelling, but they're never like that thing. It was too large and bright to have been one of the effects that you normally see."

"Hmm…" the professor mused on that.

"I am still shocked by the fact that you're from another universe," the old headmaster thought out loud. "It's so…foreign*."

"I think it's strange as well, but being well-traveled probably makes it easier for me… If my memory is right, the technology of this civilisation – Halkegenia, you say this continent is named – is roughly equivalent to that of the humans of my universe who lived one thousand two hundred years ago, give or take a few decades. From what I've gathered, the reason why you've kept this system of government is because the nobility is actually empowered – more than simply chosen by God to rule, they have been given abilities to rule by God manifest in their magic. It makes sense for those who have been raised above to lead."

"Yes… Indeed," Professor Colbert muttered distractedly.

Osmond looked at the young man with a question ready to ask. "Euh, if it does not trouble you, could you perhaps show us your – ah, what do you call it – _Mobile Glass_ again?"

"It's mobiGlas – try to pronounce it like you're meshing the words together. And yes, of course you can see it once more," Jacob replied, raising the device again for use.

Its display activated and immediately began showing the home menu. He swept between menu screens, left and right, a few times to demonstrate its aesthetic capabilities before he opened up the music app. He chose a quiet Baroque piece and turned on the audio visualiser. The image – an animated version of the album cover – pulsed in time with the music, rippling like a reflection. It was uninteresting to him, but the older men gazed at it, clearly rapt.

"Incredible…"

"You're not lying when you say that your universe has no magic?" Osmond asked, for the third time in twelve minutes. "Any at all?"

"What good would come from lying to you about it? You wouldn't trust me if I withheld information – something I'd have to do a lot of so that my story was believable – and then I'd never have a chance of seeing whether my ship survived the crash."

"So that is what you call it?" Colbert's gaze returned to Jacob's face then as he moved closer, his eyes displaying his intense interest. "A ship – just as we call ours…"

The young man stepped back slightly. "Well, on a technicality, yes. The more appropriate term would be space _craft_ , as not all of them would be best described as space _ships_. Nonetheless, ship is the term normally used."

"Mmn…"

—~~—

{1048}

Talking for almost two hours about himself before being talked to for another not-quite-two hours was surprisingly draining for Jacob, both mentally and physically. The latter solely applying to his throat – that is, he was in great need of a beverage. But Colbert was in the middle of a mini-lecture on the way their magic worked – how mages were identified based on their affinity and their skill, the latter of which was directly related to what they identified as their willpower.

He tried his best to speak without rasping his voice. "So, mages that are of the triangle and square ability classes are rare?"

"Yes, square-class mages especially so,'' the professor replied. "You know mages make up roughly ten percent of humans living in Halkegenia, right? One in ten. Well, triangle-class mages are no more common than one mage in one hundred. And square-class mages are at best one mage in four hundred.**"

"Ohh. And Void mages, you say, are even rarer. Right?"

Colbert nodded. "The Founder Brimir himself was the first Void mage, his three sons and one apprentice the next four. Each of them founded a nation, the sons founding Gallia, Tristain and Albion while the apprentice founded Romalia. There are no records of any other void mages, as far as I am aware."

"Mmn… Could you perhaps find me something to drink? My throat is parched." The young man could hold out no longer.

"Oh, of course!"

Osmond stepped back into the room at that moment, with mugs in tow – quite literally, as they floated behind him on a tray. The tray moved towards each of the other men in the room, guest first, offering them the drinks it held. Both mugs, it seemed, contained a white wine. _Interesting._

"Ah, don't worry – they're not drugged," the old headmaster said to Jacob's indecision as to whether or not he should drink his beverage.

The alcohol was light, a subtle creamy flavour that left a pleasant aftertaste. _I see why my uncle likes good wine._ He sipped it slowly, savouring it. _Definitely not spiked. Also, alcohol content is 11%._ _Good to know._

"So, you said there are no records of Void mages aside from the Founder, his sons and his apprentice? Have there really been none in the millennia since then?" the young man inquired, wondering if Osmond would react in a way that might help him discern whether the two mages were withholding information.

"In all the records I have read, there was never a mention of another Void mage," Colbert answered. "The church believes the next Void mages will come when the need for them is greatest."

The headmaster nodded once, his pipe in hand again. "Indeed. There have been times when people thought that we would need Void magic again, but it did not come. Nonetheless, the triangle-class and square-class mages of these times pulled through on their own and became legends."

"Mmn… Does that mean there are no legendary mages of the current times, or am I reading that the wrong way?"

"No, there are such legendary mages still alive today," the professor said. "Headmaster Osmond is a square-class mage of air affinity that did great deeds many decades ago. And there is Karin, the 'Heavy Wind'. She is also a square-class mage of air renowned for her military service some decades ago and is now a Duchess."

"Oh, I did very little in my heyday," Osmond disputed, "at least, compared to Karin. She's done enough grand deeds to fill up a few books! And you forgot General Gramont: a military tactician of great repute, as well as being a square of earth. He is the father of a student here, the young Guiche de Gramont."

"Ah! How could I forget the General? Yes, he led Tristain's ground forces successfully in many battles quite some years ago," Colbert added.

"Mmh, so there are still a few powerful mages alive that have done renowned things."

—~~~—

{1327}

The conversation between the three men had gone on for quite a few hours. They had covered everything from the history of the Kingdom of Tristain to the current political environment of the continent. In return, Jacob had described as best he could the science and technology his universe had access to. Much of it was accompanied by a general history of the United Empire of Earth itself.

Both mages had been appropriately intrigued, appalled, amused and distraught in response to the history of the UEE. Intrigued by the lack of magic and how they lived without it, appalled by the deeds done in war and in secret during the Messer era, amused by the somewhat random yet important side-stories in between major points in the timeline (that they believed to be apocryphal) and distraught at the conflict with the enigma that the Vanduul were and are. It was fair, the young man thought, that he should give information to them in return for the information they gave.

Now, he was alone again, looking through the various applications and offline documents on his mobiGlas. For some reason, he had access to documents that someone had shared with him but had never been opened by himself. They appeared to be the chapters of a story, something he'd have to read another time.

Nothing all that interesting was to be found on his mobiGlas aside from that story, unfortunately. Of course, there were also the stories he was writing, but they required information that he didn't have to be continued – such as reliable data on the accuracy of certain firearms and their reliability in given situations.

"Excuse me… Sir?"

The voice came from behind the door. _You could have warned me, Bastien._ _I tried. You were still recollecting the events of the morning._ _Ah, true._ "Yes?"

"Euh, I was wondering if you have any laundry that needs washing." It was the maid from earlier. _I wonder if she's kept her word._ _That's probably not what you need to worry about in this case…_ _Aïe, you're right._

Even though she hadn't opened the door wide enough to see inside, for whatever reason, Jacob shook his head as he responded, "No, I'm fine. I'm used to wearing my gear for a fortnight without changing, anyway."

"Oh, okay," was her reply. "If you ever need assistance, just call and I'll come."

"Mmh."

—~~—

{1402}

Jacob had just realised something – he still had his hidden knife. The single-edged blade was stored on the inner part of his mobiGlas – _an_ _explorer-class mobi_ – namely, the section in contact with the user's arm. It required removal of the device itself or the use or a specialised quick-access sheath to be pulled out. Not thinking he'd ever need it all that often, he hadn't purchased a model of mobiGlas with the quick-access system.

He removed the device after some finicking and extracted the small weapon. The standard piece was a utility knife – not the best for combat – however, he had replaced it with a custom fighting dagger that still fit the 21-centimetre overall length maximum. It was generally enough for emergency use, including an inbuilt oscillation engine with a 7-hour battery that recharged when in contact with a mobiGlas.

The 10-centimetre blade was essentially a miniaturised _tantō_ , specifically what the Japanese called a _kanmuri-otoshi_ type of blade. With a partial second edge from halfway up the blade to the point and a _koshi-hi_ fuller on the unsharpened back of the blade, it looked like quite the weapon. Include its titanium-alloy construction, oscillation function as well as its diamond edges and you had an easily concealed lethal weapon that could cut through most materials.

The young man tested his blade on the windowsill, letting the humming metal descend onto the stone and nodding at the small incision it made. _Works as well as expected._ _Based off of the density of that block, the blade should have no problem cutting through bone or steel._ _Brilliant._

"Now I'm not _woefully_ underprepared— just _rather_ underprepared…" Jacob smiled wryly as he spoke. "I wonder if my Sabre can fly. Don't think so, but you never know."

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Here's the second chapter of [Un]Bidden Ventures!**

 **~ Sorry about the Japanese terms at the end, but it was the best way for me to describe my mental image of the weapon.**

 **~ Jacob's been learning a few European-origin languages since he was about 8 years old, including French and German.**

 **– [Fixed my colours to account for blueshift. It is relevant to later reference, but doesn't affect this chapter.]**

 *** The word 'foreign' is one translation of the French term, 'étrange'. You could just as easily have 'strange' instead, but that's a bit boring and doesn't suit how Jacob would translate the word in his head.**

 **** I cannot recall any specifics regarding the actual numbers here, so I went with what I deemed suitable. 1 in 100 mages is 0.001% of the total population, 1 in 400 mages is 0.00025% (if my math is right). [Note, these numbers have changed to better fit their rarity.]**

 **Expect a bit more of Jacob's home in the next chapter [that is to say, his Aegis Sabre]. He'll have more than just the one little vibroblade when he actually engages in combat, don't worry.**


	4. Status Report

**THREE: Status Report  
** {Day 2, 1709}

"So you noticed it as well, eh."

"Yes. I did."

The headmaster's office was decently spacious, provided with a good view of the surrounding lands due to its high position in the centremost tower of the Academy. Jacob stood facing the main desk in the room, at which Osmond was seated. As it was, the room was probably one of the places the young man would stay away from in the rather unlikely case of an attack.

 _A man could fit through those windows._ _Not without some effort, but, yes, indeed. You should consider a man can – far more easily – fit through the windows of the towers as well._ _True. Not the most easily defended place, this._

At the present time, they were talking about the unusually large trench at the edge of the forest. Jacob believed that it was the crash site of his ship, the Sabre, but wasn't sure that he'd be allowed to travel to the site alone for various reasons. Headmaster Osmond had no reason to not believe him, but the older man also knew scarce about the pilot – and thusly had little reason to trust him.

Eventually, the white-haired man spoke again: "…You understand that you are not to be allowed to travel outside of the Academy without some form of accompaniment, yes?"

"Of course," was the reply. It was expected and reasonable. "I would be most astounded if such was not the case."

"Mmh. As it is, there are few people within the academy who would be able to make such an excursion – staff teach for eight hours of the day with only as many breaks as there are classes, after all."

"Do you have a preference as to whom?" Jacob asked.

Osmond shook his head. "No, not necessarily. I would say, though, that Colbert would be most interested in your ship and most inclined to assisting you if it comes to that."

"Oh, well, thank you," the young man said, somewhat surprised. "I did not expect assistance, though any will be welcome."

"Mmh, indeed. I will mention as much to him."

Jacob then remembered to ask something: "Do you know where my helmet is, sir? It would have been on my head when I was found by the guards. I've not seen nor heard of its possible whereabouts thus far."

"I will have to ask the water mages where it was moved to. I recall their talk of some strangeness about your body, including a rather close-fitting form of headwear, but nothing more. You will know by the end of the next day."

The pilot nodded, musing on it for a while. Then, he inquired, "If Professor Colbert can be availed, would I be allowed to see the crash site tomorrow evening?"

"Hmm… I have nothing against it in particular, no. If you remind me of it before you leave, do tell me when you expect to return."

—~~~—

{Day 3, 1826}

Professor Jean Colbert had accepted the offer to come with Jacob to the possible crash site and see if the Sabre was repairable. It was agreed between them that they would meet at the southern courtyard after dinner, outside the vestry. Classes for second year students were off today, but they were all to be found in the northern half of the western court – out of the way and unlikely to interact with the young man from another universe.

The fire-aligned teacher was interested in knowing more of the 'pilot', who had such an unusual way of talking and an equally unusual history. It was clear that the young man was not from Halkegenia – his accent was not from any country that the professor had been to and he had apparently heard naught of the continent. An intrigue all by himself, even without his words.

To be ready for their meeting, Colbert had finished his evening meal quickly and gathered together the things he believed that he could (or would) use on the trip. His staff, of course; his notebook and pencil* for the off chance that he got to write or sketch something down and his spare foci – in the most unlikely case he was unable to use his staff to cast. Add in emergency rations as well as a compass and the professor was satisfied he was ready for whatever might happen on the trip.

Just as he came to their meeting point, Colbert heard a voice hail him from behind. It was Jacob, wearing his so-called 'flight suit'.

"Good evening, Professor!" the young man called out as he closed the distance between them. "You're all ready to go, I take it?"

"Yes, indeed. There isn't much necessary for such a brief journey."

Jacob nodded. "Well, I was just informing the headmaster that we were on our way now and would be back in about an hour and a half."

"Ah, you have told Osmond already? That's good. Do you want to head off now, then?"

"We've no reason not to – it's as good a time as any with our schedule." With that, the pilot made to follow Colbert out of the Academy grounds and into the surrounding lands.

—~~—

{1848}

"Well, that's my Sabre alright. The _Shade_. She's still mostly in one piece, even."

Colbert seemed to be unsure of what to make of it. "Oh! Euh, that's… It's a little smaller than I thought, actually." _Having been told only so much about the ship already, it's really not surprising that his mental image of the ship was more impressive to his mind than the reality._

"A few people have said that before," the younger man said with a half-smile, approaching his ship as he did. "Doesn't mean she has no punch, though – her current loadout allows me to take down a Stinger, which is about the same size, and then slip away with her stealth systems before anyone else can even land a hit."

"Sounds like it's dangerous." The professor's voice expressed his mild concern.

The pilot turned to him with a grin and a reassuring tone. "Don't worry about it too much. My _Shade_ won't be taking on any airships 'round here without a good reason and at least a couple of weeks."

"Why would that be?"

He gestured to the front of the ship and tried to highlight the amount of damage to his companion: "You might not be able to see it clearly, but the cockpit here – where the pilot sits – has deteriorated to an extent that the vectoring controls for the engines," he pointed to the fore-end of the main powerplants, presently coated in a considerable amount of dirt and grime, "won't function right and need a not-inconsiderable amount of repairs. If you know your ship well enough, it only takes a glance to figure out that much."

"I see." Colbert had already starting taking down notes on the Sabre, making a point to emphasise certain words.

 _I'm not sure if he actually does see._ _It's not like it would be easy to understand how all of the systems worked if you'd never seen them before._ _That's true._ With a mental shrug, he moved to access the cockpit; the manual release was still accessible, which meant that he could open it without having to break things. The canopy was only mildly damaged, so it unlocked and swung wide with a good tug.

Colbert suppressed a gasp and Jacob let out a low whistle as they saw the damage. It was a mess inside the cockpit, what with the blood from Jacob's old wounds everywhere and pieces of the interior in places they weren't meant to be. Despite everything, some of the electronic systems had to be still together – Jacob hadn't broken through the canopy and it would have remained open if he'd had to use the emergency release.

 _"Aw, now that is nasty…"_ For a moment, the younger man forgot that no-one else knew English and slipped back to his home tongue. Colbert didn't appear to notice, rapt at the state of the cockpit and clearly wondering how the pilot survived.

"If you can just keep an eye out while I take a closer look at the damage, that'd be great," Jacob finally said as he climbed into the pilot's seat. "It'd be a good idea to stand clear, since the engines might pull at your robes while they're spinning up."

The professor obliged and stepped well clear of the _Shade_. A few moments passed as the pilot reacquainted himself with his ship and tested out the physical properties of some of the controls before firing up the engines. It wasn't easy to see some of them, covered in dried blood as they were.

 _Remind me, what's this again?_ _That's the coolant flow adjustment knob, currently set to half._ _And this is the…?_ _Quantum drive actuator. We won't need that for now._ _Right, right…_

 _Okay. I think I've got it all down._

"Here we go," Jacob muttered as he punched the ignition, its protective cover already flicked open.

With a whooshing roar, the twin engines quickly spun into life and settled into a warm-up procedure. Their combined atmo intake wasn't all that much by the standards of the thirtieth century, but it was still enough to tug noticeably at Colbert's robes from about eight metres away. It wasn't long before the low-pitched whooshes of the warm-up sequence were replaced by the fainter whirs of their higher-pitched idle.

" _Well, they're working fine. But the pneumatic system is cracked pretty badly at the front, the hydraulics are leaking in three places, the computer's running at 40.73% operational capacity and the stick is disconnected from the mav thrusters – two of which are broken._ "

The pilot's ramblings couldn't be heard by anyone, save Bastien. Colbert stood where he was, observing with wide eyes for a moment, before he shook himself from his state of awe and resumed focus on their surroundings. The Sabre wasn't the quietest aircraft around and it wouldn't do for the wrong people to find an interest in it.

—~—

After some minutes of letting the computer run through all its checks, Jacob cut power and let the engines wind down as he climbed out of the cockpit. The professor approached the ship again as it quietened, a hundred questions on his mind.

"It needs some fixing, but I can get it back in working order within a month," Jacob said as soon as his feet were on the ground. "Also, I found this ol' thing sitting disassembled in its storage case."

Colbert looked at it with a frown. "Is that some kind of firearm?"

The pilot suppressed a grin – he was a bit of a gun nut. "Short answer, yes. Long answer, it's rather unlike one you've ever seen before. You know how far it is from the Academy to here?"

"Oh, about two thousand seven hundred mails, or a bit less," Colbert answered. _It's two thousand metres rounded to ten. So a mail is about two-thirds of a metre._ _Huh. Well, then._

Jacob did some quick conversions in his head, then continued his explanation: "With this rifle, I can shoot a target the size of my hand with high consistency at just under four and a half thousand mail, based off of your estimate. Also, I've hit a target about twice the size of my hand from nine thousand mail at least eight times in the past twelve months – and a dart fired from this can punch through a block of homogenous steel about this—" he held his hands a bit more than 20 centimetres apart "—thick at about five thousand mail."

"By the Founder…!"

"I only have thirty-five rounds here, though. Well, thirty-six including the one currently chambered. It's a single-shot breech-loading bolt-action firing system. Polygonally rifled 889-millimetre-long fluted barrel, 30 millimetre bore. Custom sabots for its sub-caliber 12-by-128 millimetre darts, like this one here."

Jacob showed the professor an unfired round and extracted the sub-caliber dart. It was about as wide as his pinky and over ten times that measure long, its shape a Sears-Haack body. "Compared to your average black powder artillery from the late 19th century, this rifle firing this projectile is nearly thrice as powerful at the muzzle as a 42-pounder cannon and weighs as much as ⅙ of one shot, more or less.**"

"…How is this possible?" Colbert was partly alarmed and partly intrigued.

Jacob paused. _Wait, did rifling exist in our equivalent time period?_ _A bit late to ask now, but yes, indeed it did. This is a world with 17th-century-equivalent technology, however, not 19th._ _I know, but I remember only the 19th century data. And_ _equivalency between the charges used in the 17th versus the 19th isn't_ that _bad._

"You know what rifling is, yes? Polygonal rifling is a further advancement on conventional rifling that, when cut and used properly, allows for a notable improvement in accuracy and range. Also, the powder used in this rifle's cartridges is far more effective than black powder. Combined with refined sabot technology and a unique electromagnetic propulsion enhancement system – the use of electric current to improve muzzle velocity – and it is a very powerful rifle indeed."

"What's this, ah, electrono-magnetic system you mentioned? How does it work?" Colbert looked far more interested than worried now. _Well,_ _ **he's**_ _certainly got an engineer's love for technology._ _I'll keep it in mind._

"It's quite complex, more to explain than could be said here. We should be going back now, shouldn't we?" Jacob wasn't fond of talking about such things in a wooded area, where it was rather easy to eavesdrop.

"Ah— yes. It's been near an hour since we left already."

—~~—

{2047}

The rifle wasn't the only weapon that the pilot had found, nor were the Armour-Piercing Discarding-Sabot rounds the only type of ammunition he had. Of course, he didn't want to worry the professor any more than he had. Especially since antimatter was something of incredible value and power, aside from being inherently (and quite violently) fail-dangerous – even the _slightest_ mishap would mean disaster.

Now back in his bedroom, Jacob drew a long blade from its scabbard. The way it caught the light brought a smile to his face. It was a metre long from point to tang-shoulder, with twenty-two centimetres of hilt and a single edge to its straight blade. _It's technically two edges; the false edge has a sharpened foible ***._ _Eh, technicalities._ Unlike the concealable knife, it didn't have an oscillation engine, but it had a nanocomposite blade with half-nanometre edge – sharper than even an obsidian or diamond edge and far sturdier than either. _Old-school style and newfangled tech in a brilliant combination._

" _I've missed this one,_ " the young man admitted aloud, though he was alone in the room.

The sword was his favourite: shaped well for both cuts and thrusts, with balance that was ideal for such a purpose. Of course, a proper double-edged longsword would be just as good at cuts and thrusts – if not better at the former – but then, half-swording without a purpose-built gauntlet would be impossible, since the sharpness of the _forte_ would cut through any less. Compounding upon that, such gauntlets were known to fail often.

 _I'll have to figure out how to keep this one from being confiscated. They probably won't like me having something like this._ _They won't like the rifle a_ _ **lot** __more._ _But they can't maintain it, since they have no idea how to use it. There's a whole lot more to that one than your average bolt-action._ _Point taken._

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **A/N:**

 *** I double-checked this one – yes, pencils were around at the equivalent time. Not exactly our modern pencils with graphite and clay mixed together, but still proper wooden pencils with graphite cores (it was first called 'lead' because they thought the material was a form of lead).**

 **** I had to change this sentence from '12-pounder … demi-culverin' to '42-pounder cannon' because I realised how much I'd messed up my old calculations. For those wondering, an 1862 42-pounder with 14lbs charge has a muzzle energy of ≈2 500 000 J ('Smooth Bore Cannon Ballistics arc .id .au', calculated from values in both tables 1 and 2 with SI conversions). Jacob's rifle fires a 533.13g tungsten carbide KEP with a muzzle velocity of about 5080m/s, so it has about** **6 879 100** **J of energy at the muzzle. Would punch a hole in a few walls, that one.**

 **In comparison, an M1A1/M1A2 Abrams' 120mm cannon fires an M829A3 APFSDS with a DU/steel KEP that weighs ~6.68kg at 1555m/s, for a muzzle energy of 8 197 100 J (roughly, as the Internet doesn't have hard figures on the length/mass). Also, a rifle chambered for .50 BMG [12.7x99mm NATO] firing a 750 gr Hornady A-MAX has 17,952.4 J of muzzle energy. Paltry versus all these big guns, but more than enough for its purpose.**

 ***** For those who don't know their swordsman's jargon, _foible_ [meaning 'weak'] in this sense is the half of the blade from point to centre. _Forte_ [meaning 'strong'], then, is the part of the blade from centre to hilt. There's other terms if you're being pedantic, but those are the ones I'll use (along with _mezzo_ for middle). And the false edge is the 'back' on single-edged blades (or whichever edge faces the wielder at present on a double-edged blade).**

 **~ This was sitting pretty much finished for a while, I apologise. But it's here now, in all its jargon-filled glory.**

 **~ Next one (presently titled Tactical Manoeuvres) is in the works, with an actual fight scene in it!**

 **– Yes, I've included antimatter in this story. Star Citizen _may_ be science ****fiction with laser and neutron cannons (and multi-particle/wave cannons), but I don't want to work with things I don't know much about. [I've already calculated the amount of antimatter that would cause a grenade-sized blast to be about 0.01 nanogram, for example (assuming ~45g of TNT to be equivalent.)]**

 **» Aïe, I almost forgot – many thanks to those who've favourited, followed and/or reviewed this.** **Thank you for all the appreciation and criticism!**


	5. Tactical Manoeuvres

**FOUR: Tactical Manoeuvres  
** {Day 11, 0532}

How he'd managed to stay uncontacted by the ruling elite of Tristain for the past week or so, Jacob wasn't quite sure. _Word spreads a lot more slowly in a world without electricity._ _Very true, but it's still a shock to realise just how_ _ **long**_ _it actually is. You'd have thought people would be able to move a bit faster, what with the nearest city being just a few hours' travel on horse._ _Eh. Sometimes decisions take longer than we'd expect._ _Mmh._

At present, he was moving through the halls of the academy. He'd already memorised the layout of the campus, noting where serving staff travelled for their routines and committing everything to memory. It was a habit of his that seemed useful, along with being his best pastime when he wasn't maintaining his swordsmanship or playing darts with his rifle's kinetic penetrators.

The young man was known by those who hadn't met and talked to him in his first days as a displaced soldier from beyond the Rub' suffering from partial amnesia. It was simpler to tell them such than to try and make them believe the truth as he knew it. _Especially since we know all too well what happens when people hear something they don't want to hear._ _Yeah. You don't have to remind me._

Jacob quite easily kept out of the way of the servants, moving in a way such that they didn't have to change their pace. None had ever asked about it, but many wondered. Of course, not one of them knew that he had mastered the art of unobtrusive manoeuvring through crowds under the tutelage of an assassin, so there was that.

It wasn't long before he reached the entry to the underground levels of the academy. They were hidden, yes, but not actively restricted. Knowing that, he spent some of his time in the mornings exploring and memorising what he could of what lay below ground. It was a much more satisfying challenge than putting to memory the layout of the campus itself.

 _Heads up; two o'clock._ _Oh?_

He didn't expect to see Miss Longueville up already – normally, he was alone when he stepped into the subterranean levels of the building at this time of the day. Jacob didn't say anything, though; it wouldn't be fitting to disrupt her while she was working— why else would she be gazing intensely at the volume in her hands? Instead, he made his way to the kitchens, wanting to grab his breakfast before the students got up.

—~~—

{0621}

"Jacob."

His eyelids flew open as he pulled himself from his thoughts. The voice was not one he was familiar with, which set him on edge. But the person behind it didn't appear very threatening. _Careful. Don't underestimate her just because she's petite._ _You know I won't. I can see the way she carries herself._

"Yes. That is my name. May I know yours?"

"Tabitha."

 _Not one for wasting words, eh?_ "Did you call my name for a reason?"

"Follow."

"Sure." _What is she…?_ _Be ready for anything._ _Of course. You can see that tone, right?_ _Her muscle development_ is _quite impressive for an adolescent._

The girl was surprisingly short – _142 centimetres in height_ – something that was accentuated by her staff, which was a good two dozen centimetres taller than she was. Azure hair complemented the sky blue eyes behind red slim-framed glasses and a slender figure that would suit a child. _But she's a second-year, so she can't be younger than 13, probably 14. I would say 15._

He followed Tabitha through the halls of the school, walking backwards a third of the time to better pass it. _Seems like we're heading for…_ _The library, I believe._ _Right._

—~—

When they stepped into the library, she continued moving quickly as she navigated its walkways, clearly certain of their destination. Up to the uppermost level of the library and through to the well-lit reading room.

"What's this?" he breathed.

A book slipped out of the shelf ahead of him as he entered, floating over to the coffee table in the centre as the petite mage sat in a wingback chair holding another tome.

He stepped towards the table and took a closer look at the volume. "Why show me this?"

A completely different voice answered: "Because I found something within."

 _Colbert_ _. Ah._ Jacob turned to the professor with an expression that prompted further explanation.

"I've been trying to figure out the origin of your predicament since you arrived," the balding man continued, "so I've read through volumes from quite the variety of sources. Tabitha here gave me this one late in the previous night – and I think it has our answer. You said it was a silvery portal that took you and your ship here, no?"

"Mh-hmm, a mirror-like silver-blue to my eyes," he agreed. "But I believe it was tinged green, not blue, due to the blueshift of my ship's speed at the time."

"Oh?" Colbert tilted his head slightly as he inquired before taking the seat on Tabitha's right.

"There have been times when things I know to be greenish appear blued if my ship passes by at a high enough velocity," the young man answered.

"Ah. Well, then. That makes this much easier. But no less confusing," the professor admitted.

"Much easier, yet not?" Jacob asked, deciding to take a seat. He lowered himself into the third seat in the room, which was opposite the other two, as he kept his focus on the master of flame.

"Easier in discerning how, but no less confusing as to why it happened," Professor Colbert clarified. He opened the book to a specific page and pointed to the heading as he showed it to the younger man.

"Hm."

"This chapter covers the various exceptional familiars summoned at the Vernal* Summoning Ritual over the years. Its list includes the most powerful and the most intelligent of them, including the handful of Firstborn summons." The professor turned to another chapter's beginning a few pages later and held the book out to Jacob.

"Firstborn?" the nineteen-year-old asked, wanting to get the question out of the way before deciphering the text.

"Ah, of course – my apologies. Firstborn races are those that are also sentient but do not use the same magic as we do. The magic of the Firstborn is more powerful than the magic we use, capable of incredible feats that not even a Square-class mage can achieve."

 _Wow._ _Let's try not to get on the bad side of a Firstborn, then, shall we?_ _Indeed._ "What are these races?"

"There are the rhyme dragons and the winged people, the spirits both lesser and greater, the echoes, the vampires and the elves. Oh, and the goblins – though only goblin priests can use any form of firstborn magic, to a rather limited extent."

"Huh. Well, what does this chapter cover, professor?"

Colbert blinked as he realised that he had rambled tangentially. "Back to the point, of course, sorry." _ He can be quite amusing in his expressions and mannerisms. Sometimes._

"No need to apologise," Jacob said.

The professor nodded. "This chapter has information on mages of the Void and their familiars. Among other things, I found – with Tabitha's assistance – that the Void mages of old summoned _human_ familiars… Brimir's sons and apprentice, that is."

"Which… means…?"

"Well, this is only my speculation, but… you may have been summoned here as the familiar of a Void mage."

"… Well. Don't know about that."

"Mhm."

 _Are you okay?_

 _Okay with what?_

 _You know what I'm asking._

 _Can you deal with that?_

…

 _Jacob?_

 _I don't know._

"But if it _is_ the case, I'll have to live with it, won't I."

—~~~—

{1327}

Of all things, a resonant rumble wasn't something that Jacob expected to hear after lunchtime. It sounded nothing like the occasional explosions he'd heard 'round the campus – more like an impact.

"Any clue what that was?"

Tabitha, who had returned to the library after lunch not quite half an hour ago, shook her head.

"Enh." _I'll ask abou—_

Another rumbling sound reached them then, more forceful than before.

"I might just check. If I'm not back in four minutes and there's still noise, tell somebody before you check for yourself, would you?" A nod was all he received in return, the blue-haired girl engrossed in the book in her hands.

"See you in a few minutes, then."

He moved calmly to the nearest door out, but spent no more time delaying when he was out the door. His bionic legs propelled him to a speed no natural legs could reach as he made his way to the source of the noise. _I don't know if I'll like this. Pass by your room and take the sword with you, then. I'll do that. But I'll leave the rifle._

—~—

"Oh-ho." _Well, this blade won't be much use._ _Mmn. And your knife is too small to do much damage._ _This is the kind of thing I_ didn't _want to have to face._

With all the noise of the school's outdoor events and goings-on, the impacts were hardly noticed. _Why is my work never easy? Well, it wouldn't be much work without difficulty._

The massive rock-beast – _they call it a golem, I think_ – readied itself for another strike on the Academy wall, revealing a figure as its shoulders turned. _Hm?_ _Ah._ That _is our target: the golem's operator. This will be **m** **uch**_ _easier, then._

He closed in on the walking monolith from behind, out of sight of its operator. With a small run-up, he leapt high, drawing his blade as he landed on the shoulder of the monstrosity just within striking distance of the becloaked Earth mage.

"Bonjour."

They whirled, surprised, and moved to attack reflexively. His blade flicked up and severed the focus just short of their grip on it, leaving a thin line on their first two knuckles. It was more than enough to shock them, but they recovered quickly and pulled another wand from under their cloak as he struck again. A crude length of flint appeared in the figure's free hand in time for it to be used to slow down his blade and let them evade the blow. At the same time, however, the impact was enough for Jacob to lunge into a thrust.

"Uah!" the cloaked figure cried as the blade gouged their side. He pulled the sword free and stepped into a punch— that only met empty space. _It_ _ **had**_ _seemed superficial._ _True._

Given time to recover, the mage then remembered that they were standing on the construct. A small gesture with their wand and Jacob was suddenly knocked off-balance as the rock he stood on moved its arms. _Might have to get off this thing now._ _Indeed._

Not wasting a moment, Jacob leapt clear of the golem with a smooth forward roll on landing. Deciding to get rid of their opponent, the mage raised the construct's foot 'round to crush him. He darted out of the way and exchanged his sword for his knife. _Are you going to try and pull off_ _ **that**_ _one?_ _Yeah. Let's see how it works out._

He sprang forward again and used his knife as a piton of sorts to cling to the golem's back. With a grunt, he leapt higher up and sank the blade into its nape – aiming to weaken the neck to make decapitation of the construct easier. The position was both vulnerable and difficult to reach at the same time, as he was easily noticed but inaccessible to the hands of the rather inflexible golem.

—~—

All of a sudden, the right shoulder of the golem was caught in a grenade-sized explosion that almost dislodged Jacob from his perch. _What the—?_ _Checking electromagnetic spectrum image feeds. Three of them, all female. One student on the ground and two students in the air riding a… dragon, apparently._ _No need to be cautious – I'm ready to believe just about anything's plausible here. Anything?_

… _Except for a flight-capable food-based monstrosity._ _That's rather… oh._

 _Any idea if one is Tabitha?_ _Mmh; the lead airborne has a 98.67% data match on first pass. The other airborne appears to be a fire-aligned mage, while the wayfarer is indiscernible at present._

Jacob sighed. It was nice to know he had backup, but he had no idea of the combat ability of the other students; Tabitha was the only one he'd placed as experienced in any kind of fighting out of the handful he'd seen in passing. It was a small hope in his mind that he had only seen the less capable students, one he doubted.

 _Now's the time to get creative, then._ The knife had started to carve itself a gash that slanted to his left slightly, so he made to leap in that direction. He shifted his weight to better position himself before taking the jump. _Okay…_

A small grunt escaped him as he became airborne temporarily, reflexively preparing for the impact. It was easy for him to grip the ridged surface of the construct's back and sink the vibroblade into a crevice – one of the easiest free-climbs he'd had in years.

Through the solid rock, it was impossible to not feel the vibrations made by the spells of the young mages as they attacked the construct's front, distracting its operator from the threat that he posed. He made his way to the humanoid rock-thing's left shoulder as he felt it nearing the student on the ground— and then an explosion suddenly detonated a handful of metres to his right.

" **Merde!** "

The blast buffeted him and almost dislodged his knife from its anchor point, which would have left him without an emergency brake. Jacob had no way of contacting the mages in case of situations like the present one, so he had to persist through the issue. He made it to the left shoulder as another explosion boomed, this time cracking the construct's right pectoral area, which forced the assailant to transfer to the other side to keep it in balance.

—~—

"Re-bonjour."

This time, they were prepared for him – it was hard to miss the gleaming dirk in their free hand. But he wasn't one to be nice to an unknown enemy: he was proficient in wielding his sword with a knife as well as in reverse grip and with half-swording techniques, all of which he could utilise interchangeably to considerable effect. It was with a hand on the _forte_ that he closed in on the assailant, striking with both blade and hilt, forcing them to focus on defending.

He was impressed that they could concentrate on his attacks and still keep the golem moving; although the construct wasn't doing much damage to the Academy's walls. There were a small number of cracks, of course, but surprisingly few and of insignificant effect – _especially for no less than three metric tonnes of rock striking the wall each time a fist connects._ _Wow. That's a lot of mass. Moving at about 16m/s, that's 380 000 Joules-per-punch if my math's right._ _You've gotten sidetracked again! Focus!_ _You started it!_

Even as he retorted, Jacob returned all his focus to the task at hand. The mage was still multitasking as the pilot decided to add some variety to the fight, bringing his knife into play. It was a flourish with the long blade, as if executing a _zwerchhau_ with one hand (nicely evaded), that preceded his dual-wielding of sword and dagger. He was able to strike from two entirely different angles – which threw the dirk-wielding mage off and nearly cost them an arm.

As they evaded the longsword rising up from his right, he brought the knife in and lunged at them as their near the golem's neck. The vibroblade licked at their cloak and caught their left forearm as they made to dance away. A curse escaped the mage when blood began to pour from the long gash, dripping off their fingers and soaking into the dark cloth they were enshrouded within.

Jacob grinned at them, reversing his grip on the combat knife as he closed again. A brief phrase in magespeak and their wand was encased in granite, allowing them to better deal with his two blades. _I wonder if they've picked up that I'm messing with them._ _Possibly. Though, you shouldn't play 'round with someone who can control a few score tonnes of rock._ _True. Even so, it's fun._

He was indeed toying – which wasn't the wisest thing he'd done, but he'd made worse mistakes and survived them. Their combat was drawn out another minute as he let them get a feel for his dual-wielding. _Must you do this every time?_ _It's not every day that we face a real mage!_ _Yes, but when you combat unknowns, you're prone to relaxing like this – which can easily turn for the worse._ _If you're all that bothered, I'll start being properly serious about this fight._

The earth mage was faring as well as could be expected – that is to say, he could see that they knew he was more skilled than they were. He launched a quintet of rapier-quick thrusts that were barely deflected to liven up the fight. Pressing the _vor_ , he followed up with a pattern of slashes that drew an octothorpe. They deflected the first horizontal blow and evaded the next, but he closed the distance instantaneously as he slashed upwards, tearing through their cloak, and then down onto their shoulder to slice their right deltoid muscle.

They spat a curse as he closed with his knife, his arcing cuts making tatters of the form-concealing cloak. It fell away from them as they danced back – now a slender figure in mottled green-grey, still obscured of face by way of kerchief – and leapt to the other side of the golem, launching a collection of throwing knives his way.

Unfazed, Jacob struck away the projectiles that actually threatened him as he leapt to the top of the construct's head – and promptly leapt off before the fireball aimed at the golem's brow connected. _Fire to the face is_ _ **not**_ _good._ _Generally, yes, though there are exceptions._ _If it's not to_ _ **my**_ _face, maybe._

Somewhat unfortunately, his instinctive leap sent him well away from the construct – and thus unable to use it to arrest his fall. _Aïe._ _Oh well._ He returned his blades to their sheaths before he hit the ground with an impact-absorbing forward roll. The young man was on his feet immediately, drawing the sword from its scabbard in the same motion.

 _Scans show they're definitely female, younger than 30 years old._ _Really? Yeah. Weight is a_ _round 64 kg, which is more than I'd initially expected. Possibly dark-haired in contrast to pale eyes, but the natural colours 'round here are quite uniquely varied._ _That's good for reference. Thanks._ _What else am I for in a fight like this?_

 _Now, keeping the earth mage occupied in a one-on-one fight without severe maiming clearly hasn't worked, so we'll have to either go lethal or improvise even more._ _Lethal always involves paperwork. And I can't do your paperwork for you here._ _Improv it is, then._

—~—

"Uah?!"

"Heh! Je ne suis pas fait!" _I'm not done with you yet!_

Jacob closed in on the mage, his sword in both hands as in _Bloßfechten_. He kept low in _nebenhut_ as he approached, but raised his blade suddenly to _vom tag_ before he swung and cut diagonally from just inside her shoulder to her hip. She stepped back to evade, but all her move did was move the point of contact from its centre of percussion in the _terzo_ to its _foible**_. Even so, the nanocomposite blade was more than capable of rending the targeted flesh.

Spitting a curse, the mage dropped back as the fresh wound opened, a thin line that bled lightly but clearly stung. _Surely she knows I have greater skill up close. She should have something_ _. Be ready to leap._ _Of course._

Barely a moment later, Jacob swung his blade again, aiming to slice across her midriff. Her dirk deflected it down as she instructed the golem to raise its other arm in attack. Jacob readied himself for evasion even as he drew his blade back along the same trajectory.

"Hᴀʜ!" he cried as his blade connected. But the order given to the golem was not what he expected – its fist came crashing down towards the young mage on the ground.

 ** _"AAH—!"_**

The wound he dealt was enough to make his opponent choke and stumble briefly, but he knew instantly that the golem would not stay its hand so easily. _Merde._ His efforts would be pointless if a student became a casualty. The thought that someone who didn't truly know what they were doing could be severely injured or worse made him angry. _That's what I was trying to_ prevent _. And now she's gone and done_ this _._

"Heh. Je vous ai."

 _No. You don't._ "Ta **gueule**."

As the golem's fist moved to strike him from its shoulder, he stilled himself and inhaled deeply. When it was a quarter-second away from contact, he disappeared in a blur.

"Aah?!"

"… C'est **fini.** "

Jacob's blade flashed in a downward arc that sheared through the hastily flung defence, a fall-assisted _scheitelhau_. Before a screech could escape the mage's lips, he sent his blade's pommel crashing into her face at great speed. The spray of blood from her broken nose joined the streams of red from the stumps of her newly missing fingers in staining her clothes, turning the green to a ripened olive and the grey to a dark maroon.

 _The wayfaring mage is unharmed – the other two rescued her from the blow._ _Thank God._

"I'm almost surprised you're still standing," the young man said.

"Enfoiré! You'll **pay** for that!"

"I don't think so," he retorted, his blade already at her neck. Jacob ever so slightly increased the pressure on her skin. Any excessive movement she made would tear the major blood vessels pulsing underneath right open. At the same time, he snapped out a kick that splintered her wand.

The mage's dirk fell from her wounded hand as her eyes widened. "Wha–?"

"Do _any_ thing out of turn, and I'll do more than just slit your throat – even if you're on the other side of the academy, I will take your head before you even realise."

"…"

"Good. Now, let us see." A nigh-imperceptible flick of his blade cut away her kerchief, the motion too quick for her to truly see. "Ah. Prévisible." _Not too shocking. But rather disappointing. Of course._

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I've had time to get a good idea of what everyone is like. I know that Colbert has gaze of one who has seen so much. Osmond is not as senile as he appears, nor as frail. And you, I found, have quite the sleight of hand."

"Mmh. So, will you end me now?"

"Of course not. That decision is up to those who are in charge here."

"Nice to know."

"Even so, I could sever your other hand's thumb if I wanted to make sure you couldn't use a wand."

"You—"

"But, I won't. It wouldn't do to ruin a person's writing hand for such a small reason."

"Thank you for the consideration. _Really_."

"If you'd be so kind as to remove all magical items and equipments from your person, that would be great."

"Fine." Her good hand removed two more spare foci along with a couple of handfuls of reagents & catalysts.

" _And_ your boot knife." The slender blade was dropped off one side of the golem, sinking into the ground below. "Thank you. Now, let's do this right."

A blur as his blade was sheathed was her only warning as he suddenly forced her into an armlock. Fouquet gasped, both in surprise and pain – few people she knew could move so quickly. Fewer still could singlehandedly defeat her while she commanded a golem. "How?"

He ignored the question. "There. Now, watch your landing, or I might dislocate your arms." Jacob moved to the edge of the slowly collapsing golem's shoulder as he switched his kimura lock to a hammerlock.

"Wait, quell— _aah_!"

He dropped off the side of the construct, letting himself take the brunt of the impact so as to keep the wounded mage from collapsing in shock. Fouquet stumbled a pace on landing, but was relatively unhurt for a twenty-metre drop.

" **SOMEBODY** , GET A HEALER OUT HERE."

His imperative sent the lone bystander – a slim, pale-faced youth of blonde hair with a second-year's cloak – sprinting to find a water mage that could heal multiple lacerations.

"…Why try to save the one that just tried to kill you?" she mumbled, speech slurred by the blood pouring from her broken nose.

"I fought to pay my debts to the Academy for its hospitality," the young man known as Jacob answered in a formal tone. "You may have fought to pay blood for blood, or to pay your debts – or for another reason – but it is not a motive that is intentionally opposed to my own. I harbour no ill will beyond what I feel you deserve. Beside that, the wounds you have will become infected without treatment, leading to a state of injury I would wish on no-one."

"…"

He smiled insouciantly. "Unless you would prefer to die from such infection?"

"No. Of course not. But…"

"Leave that puzzle for another time. I tend to think in ways that others find unusual."

"Unusual indeed."

—~~—

{Day 11, 1354}

"Ah, before you go, mesdemoiselles. Thank you, all of you. May I know the names of those who aided me in combat?"

"Of course. I am Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst."

"… Already know."

"Indeed. Also, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Zerbst. I am Jacob Arken, if you want to know my name. And you, mademoiselle?"

"Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière."

"A wonderful name for a surprisingly capable mage. Even though your aim could improve, you managed to deal the most damage to that golem out of everyone by far."

"…"

"Ah, have I spoken wrongly?"

"No, no. It's just that…"

"She's hardly one to be praised. Louise has failed in every practical application of magic outside of this fight."

"Well, that simply tells me that she should endeavour to refine what she has so as to make it useful outside of battle – if she does not wish to be solely a battle-mage, that is. Explosions are quite a useful tool in battle, though."

"… Merci beaucoup, monsieur."

"Ah, ce n'est pas nécessaire. I am no knight."

"Est-ce vrai? Then, you aren't a mage?"

"A mage does not wear clothes like these, I would think. I am just a soldier remember? A staff sergeant."

"Those are very well-maintained for a common war-fighter, _Herr_ Arken."

"Well, I have been here for more than a week; the help has seen to keeping them clean."

"Ah, vrai."

"Now, I should talk to the professors about this event. Au revoir, mesdemoiselles."

"Au revoir, Monsieur Arken."

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Sorry this took so long, I had to revise the combat more than I expected. Also, said combat scenes are quite long, bumping this chapter over 4.6k words.**

 *** I decided 'Vernal' was more appropriate than 'Springtime', though they have the same meaning. It's derived from the Latin term, after all.**

 **** _Terzo_ is yet more jargon, sorry; it means the middle of the blade (when using three divisions of the blade).  
• The Italians actually have even more divisions of a sword's blade, up to nine (I think), but I'll keep to _forte_ , _foible_ and _terzo_.**

 **– I'm a bit rusty on my French, but I'm 95% certain that the phrases and individual words I've included make sense.**

 **◊ For those who don't know the language very well, here's a few translations:  
** **» _Re-bonjour_ is simply 'Hello again'.  
** **» _Ta gueule_ is an insult more vile than _merde,_ the latter of which is essentially 'sh!t'. I've forgotten what it exactly translates to, though** **.  
» _C'est fini_ is just 'It's finished/done'.  
» _Enfoiré_ means 'Bastard'.  
» _Prévisible_ is 'Unsurprising'.  
** **» _Quelle_ (shortened to _quell_ ) is 'what?'  
» _Mesdemoiselles_ is the plural form of _mademoiselle_ , which is a term originating from _ma demoiselle_ ['my little lady' or something like that].  
** **» _Beaucoup_ (as in _merci beaucoup_ ) is 'very much / a lot'.  
» _Nécessaire_ is 'needed /necessary'.  
**

 **~ My thanks again to all who have favourited, followed and commented on this story!**


	6. Man of Action

**FIVE: Man of Action  
** {Day 14, 0547}

 _Mark._

 _Triple-check distance._ _8 215 metres._

 _Windage._ _Nine milliradian._

 _Elevation._ _Seven milliradian._

 _Rate of traversal._ _Nihil.*_

 _Body._ _65 BPM, steady. 98 over 72 pressure. Oxygen intake normal._

 _Inhale._

 _Exhale._

 _Inhale._

 _Exhale…_

—~—

 _1.7 seconds passed between gunshot and hit, to two significant figures as you prefer. 100 µs from trigger pull to the end of the barrel._

Not much time for a round to travel 8.2 kilometres, even in the thirtieth century. Bastien's calculations meant a 5080 m/s muzzle velocity – _Mach 14.81 at standard temp and atmo; fast enough to make an LR620 seem slow._ _Still below the manufacturer's recommended limit of 5250 m/s._ Forcing 533 grams of precisely-shaped tungsten carbide to travel at that speed required a lot of energy – over six million Joules transferred to the kinetic penetrator as it flew down the barrel.

Modified electromagnetic rifles could fire maybe a dozen rounds at such velocities before a recharge. However, in a firing system like the one in Jacob's rifle – where chemical propellants and electromagnetic propulsion were used in conjunction – it was possible for a marksman to fire thirty rounds with the same charge.

 _That was a good shot._ _Thanks._

He collected the empty cartridge and the sabot pieces before he cleared the rifle and made to check the target. Said target was a precisely-shaped rectangular prism of candle wax with a 24x24cm face and 120 cm depth. Jacob knew that wax was similar enough in density to ballistics gel for him to use it as a targeting medium, though asking someone for near 70 kilograms of the material was, well, strange – to say the least.

The journey to the target was roughly two minutes long, during which he practised some of his continuous movement combat. _Turn, overhead, spin-slash, jump, overhead, flip, overhead, land, double-pace, leap, uppercut, double-spin-slash, overhead, pace._

 _Average of 68 m/s over your whole run; a decent pace for combat._ _More than 'decent' in this universe, I'd say. Mmh._

"Hm. Let's see if the wax actually captured that dart," Jacob muttered as he slowed down. The tree that stood behind the table with the slab of wax on it didn't look like it'd been damaged, so it was a possibility. _Not the best chance. You know it has as much energy at 7400 metres as a 21st-century 12.7x99mm at point-blank._ _Can't deny that. But we're 800 beyond that – and we've got enough to catch an LR620 shot at 4250._

He walked over to the makeshift target and chuckled. _Well, there's our answer._ Because of the angle, the kinetic penetrator entered the block of wax near the bottom and exited it from the side about one metre in. At the point where it broke through, however, it had lost most of its energy to the wax – and so it only managed to partially leave the block.

 _Makes it easy to collect._ _Yeah, it does._ He stepped forward and drew his knife, using it to cut into the wax to extract the penetrator.

"Oh, hey – it isn't deformed. Makes this easier."

 _Ah, there's some_ _deformation of the leading tip._ _Really?_ _Nothing that a little high-grit sanding wouldn't fix, though it'll be shorter and lighter by a touch._

—~~~—

{Day 12, 0728}

"This is… quite the predicament we've been put in. You realise this, don't you?"

Again in the office of the headmaster, Jacob observed the wizened man that led the Academy of Magic in Tristain. Eyes that normally glinted with mirth now glanced about in worry. The man's hands twitched with further, equally subtle discomfort. Small tells that gave away more than the slow, vague words.

"I do. The deputy head of a royally established and continentally renowned academy such as this one being a professional criminal is quite the scandal."

"Also the fact that you, a soldier of foreign lands and not a mage, managed to defeat an infamous Triangle-class mage with the assistance of but three students."

"True. My abilities are beyond a normal human's, due to my position in the Navy of the Empire I hail from – in that other universe."

"According to the account that Tabitha gave, that would certainly appear to be the case."

"I would suggest that you assess the skill levels of each of the three in a different manner. While they may well be proficient in skills that suit the royal courts, if I read the motive of the Albionese rebellion you informed me of earlier, ability in combat and tactics wouldn't go astray. Mages with battle skills are force multipliers, able to eliminate or support a score or many dozens of common soldiers as their class dictates."

"I would not leap to conclusions about the situation in Albion. But, even so, the students _did_ willingly and successfully engage in combat. I will personally examine their skills regarding such in my own time."

"Of course."

"Yet, it must be said that one of the three did fail in one aspect of their studies for the year. They will need to be excused from the Academy quietly at some point, unless there is good reasoning in letting them stay."

"Mademoiselle de la Vallière, no? She was the most effective in combating Fouquet's golem, causing considerable damage to it and distracting the mage from engaging in combat with myself. If nothing else, I would equate the damage of each of her attacks to a first-rate ship's heaviest cannon and suggest specialised lessons – if I could, that is."

"I will see to assessing her skills in my own time, monsieur."

"Ah, I meant no offense. It seems strange for one to utterly fail an aspect of their year's studies when all theory is immaculate."

"None was taken. Now, Professor Colbert has reason to meet with me in private soon enough, so if you would kindly take your leave."

"Certainly, Headmaster. If you need me, I shall be training with my blades outside the school grounds until mid-morning."

—~~~—

 _{UNKNOWN}_

 _He charges forward, seemingly heedless of the gunfire from ahead and to his right. The compact firearm in his hands barks as he lets it cut down those who stand to guard his mark. A bullet from one of them strikes his shoulder armour; another grazes his helm. They collapse just as he dives to his left and makes to reload._

 _The fresh magazine clicks into place as he hears the distinct pre-fire whir of the rotary machine gun to his right, this time aimed to shred his body. With a curse, he lets loose a burst at the gunner as he begins moving again; the small bullets ricochet off of its shielding, doing no harm to the man at the trigger. Strangely, he does not hear the incredible roar of the mounted weapon— rather, the unnerving sound of a head being blown open and the sharp crack of a sniper's rifle._

 _A calm voice speaks to him from within his ear: "You're covered for exceptionals. Keep moving."_

 _He gives no verbal reply, his focus remaining on the task at hand. The man knows his Watcher is more than able to deal with such problems, freeing him to move more swiftly._

 _Vaulting over a deployable cover wall, he guns down one guard just before he pivots on his free hand to direct both feet into another's chest. On landing, his weapon snaps up to shoot three of them – just as one's head is removed from its body. Their corpse collapses as a live grenade falls from their hand, detonating shortly afterward._

" _Much appreciated."_

 _No reply is given, but the man is certain his Watcher smiled as he deals death to the next group of guards. Continuing on his way, he collects a pair of grenades for later use before reaching the building._

 _A wave of automatic fire from beyond the corner brings him to a halt. "Can't locate, can you?" The breathless monotone makes it more a statement than question, but a quick response comes nonetheless._

" _Not with what I have, no – it's a lead-lined room. Can take it out with a bunker-buster, but no visual means accuracy is gone. No HESH rounds or antimatter, either." He expects it, but growls a curse nonetheless._

 _With a snarl, he precedes his advance with both grenades, distracting the gunners for long enough that he can take in the layout of the room and act accordingly. The explosions are joined by a roar of gunfire as he slips 'round the corner and takes most careful aim. A fraction of a second and then – a bark as four bullets fly true, striking their marks without fail._

 _The heavy machine gun goes quiet, as do the automatic rifles. When he moves further, a shriek and sharp double-crack give him pause as an ambush is disrupted somewhere ahead. "Thanks."_

" _Just my job."_

 _Nothing more needs to be said; the mark is still moving. He moves yet more swiftly through the levels of the building, knowing that every delaying moment works against him._

 _Quick bursts of gunfire take out each of those opposing him that he sees, just as incredibly well-placed thundering shots cut down those he doesn't see. The two work in perfect synchronisation to cut a path to the saferoom._

" _You'll want the antimatter charges."_

" _Of course," is his reply._

 _The explosives are in place not more than a moment later. He steps clear and primes the detonator, firearm ready in his other hand with a fresh magazine._

 _A sizeable explosion resounds to announce his entry, clearing the way for him to drop into the middle of the room. His weapon fires in controlled bursts to down the armed enemies in rapid succession, taking all of five seconds to eliminate a score and one._

 _The mark is the only one left standing aside from him. Armed with a riot shotgun, the mark trembles with adrenaline in the face of such a danger._

" _How… can one assassin… defeat all my men?"_

" _I prefer the term Slayer," he answers, deep voice filtering through the strange helmet. "And a Slayer always has backup on standby. Even the average killer does."_

" _So, here is where I will die then, is it?"_

 _ **BANG.**_

" _Yes. In fact, you're already dead."_

 _The body of his mark collapsed to the ground as he spoke. He loaded a fresh magazine to his auto-carbine and leapt out of the safe room._

" _Good work," the voice in his ear declared. "RV at the designated time and place."_

" _Wilco. Slayer, out."_

—~~~—

{Day 13, 2147}

" _Ooh. Wonder what's happening over there…?"_

Jacob was positioned at the top of the centremost tower in the Academy, the highest point for at least a dozen klicks in all directions. It meant that he could see anything that happened at almost any point in and around the campus, including a small but well-armed convoy with at least two dozen musketeers that moved as cohesively and fluidly as UEE Marines. They approached the main gate with long arms at port, heads unmoving but eyes and ears most definitely open.

Above everything else that the young man was, he was a pilot – but when he could not fly, he took up marksmanship. His _Shade_ was presently non-airworthy, so he spent time with his rifle most days. Including nights when word had quickly spread of visitors from near the top of the social ladder.

 _That looks like a crest, on that centremost carriage._ _And there's a guard force. Elite troops with conventional arms, as well as mage knights._ _Well, then. We know just who's arrived._ _Mh. Royalty. The princess, if I'm not mistaken._

The larger of the two riflescopes on his weapon let him see with an optical magnification of over three hundred and seventy, making a thousand metres closer than arm's reach. He could make out the facial features on most of the people now entering through the gate, but more than half wore hoods that prevented him from seeing their faces.

 _Can you highlight physical builds?_ _I'll bring up your thermal view on the contact lens._ _Ho! that's bright._ _Oop, sorry._

 _Not a major problem. I can see, now. There's a lot more female soldiers than you'd expect from a late-1600s-equivalent society._ _T rue. Something personal on the princess' part, perhaps?_ _Mayhap. Still, they are elite military: not to be trifled with._ _Not ignoring that._

 _Now, which of the women wearing a hood do you think is the princess?_ _Tactics would place her near the middle, but not dead centre._ _Also, she's an adept mage, so a female with at least one magic focus._ _So… there's three that seem to fit the descriptions we've been given, as far as I can tell._ _Highlight them to me, will you?_

 _There. I think it's one of the two that's near the front._ _No, I'm pretty sure it's the other one. She seems like she's distracted by her thoughts, which none of the others you chose are. Also, she's about 158 cm in height, which we were given – based off of the measure of 'between 2.3 and 2.4 mails tall'._ _Ah, that's true. On top of those points, she's talking with the apparent commander of the musketeers._ _Mh._

With a small sigh, Jacob looked up from the scope, eyes still seeing the world about him with infrared overlay through his AR contacts. The world was slightly brighter, due to the warm spots of people and other living creatures, but also fainter – trees were more difficult to distinguish and the more distant hills were almost indiscernible.

"I feel inclined to give the princess a welcome – but it would be terribly uncivil, wouldn't it?"

 _She's departed the convoy._

"Really…? Well, forget courtesy, I'm curious."

—~~—

{2203}

"I wonder who…"

Jacob was a young man of many skills and tools, but he was never one to use active camouflage. It was useful, yes, but it required far more than a regular flight suit – his uncle used custom armoured suits with purpose-built stealth design whenever he needed to be quiet. As a result, the nineteen-year-old had taken up old-fashioned camouflage: silence and cryptic movements, using the cover of shadows, wearing disruptive-pattern clothes, concealing the face, taking one's time and being certain in the knowledge that people would never notice a silhouette that they didn't expect to see.

Now, he was using all of the skills he'd mastered to follow a young lady that so happened to be the heiress of the Tristanian Royal Family for the sole purpose of satisfying his curiosity. The plainly absurd nature of his motives brought a faint smile to Jacob's face as he quite easily out-hid someone who was trying to hide from everyone else. She moved quite silently herself, just a scuff of leather soles on worn carpet, but her glances for people about her weren't as subtle or as thorough as his own. It _was_ , of course, incredibly hard to out-stealth one who had been taught it by an assassin that moved as silently as a night chill even at a hefty 95 kilos of artificial and natural muscle.

 _That same man can outpace me by 25 metres per second and drop a dozen men in half the time I can, even though he has flesh-and-bone arms and I have bionic limbs._ _Focus._ _Sorry. She's just moving so slowly it's painful to see._ _We both can tell she's almost there, though._ _But 'almost' isn't 'already'._ _Well, it is now._ _You have me there._

True enough, the cloaked figure of the young princess had finally stopped to unlock a door, though it was apparently more trouble to open than she had anticipated. _Shall I?_ _Normally I'd help choose, but this is one I'll leave to you._ _Ah. Well, I've decided._

"To anyone who did not know as much as I do, this would be quite suspicious. But I would assist you rather than hinder you, if you are who I believe you are."

The figure had whirled in surprise at the first quiet word, instinctively reaching for a focus, but Jacob was already within three metres of her – unless she knew a powerful cantrip, she had no chance of taking him down from this distance. Realising it herself, she lowered her hand and examined his face. He drew the corner of his mouth into an amused smirk as she realised that the face before her wasn't simply unfamiliar due to being smeared with dirt, but actually unknown to her on the whole.

Naturally, the cloaked young lady quietly asked the most predictable question in the book: "And who might you be that I would not know you and yet you would know me?"

 _Surprisingly melodious, I have to say._ "I am Jacob Arken. Most of the people here know me as an amnesiac soldier from beyond the Rub' al Khali, but it is barely a fraction of the truth. If every word of the truth were a second of unwelcome music, I would have ten hours' worth of wearying song – and then some."

"That doesn't explain how you would know who the Princess is of this kingdom."

"When word quietly spreads, I am but one who listens with both ears and takes note. There are times when I can simply sit where I eat with the help and catch all manner of gossip. To harmlessly inquire of your appearance is hardly out of turn for someone that everyone knows cannot remember, is it not, Princess?"

A near-imperceptible flinch preceded her next words. "It would not seem so. But, then, why assist someone of such political value? A professional should have some motive for their actions – you could kill me here and none would be wiser until dawn. To kidnap me would hardly be more difficult, either."

"Professional? Not in the sense you think of. I may have been taught this by an assassin, but I am not one myself. Anyway, I will help you open the door here for my own reasons – and because being on friendly terms with the next ruler of the kingdom I have found myself living in has many benefits." With that, Jacob stepped past her and deftly opened the door with as little sound as possible. "I am not one for politics, but I can understand it well enough."

"It would seem so. And thank you for that, Monsieur Arken."

"Ah, just Jacob or Arken, Highness. I am not one with a knight's title or any such equivalent. In any case, you are quite welcome."

"Is that true? I would think you at least an officer, with your etiquette."

"Just a sergeant, Princess – one that knows his manners." He cast his gaze about the room and noted that he knew the face of its occupant. _Pale strawberry-blonde._ _Vallière, Louise._ _Ah, the one that cast the explosions. I remember her._ "Do you know Mademoiselle de la Vallière well?"

"A sergeant, you say… Ah—yes, I do. She's an old friend from my childhood."

"Well, unless you'd rather I stay for some reason, I'll take my leave and let you two be by yourselves. Bonne nuit, Votre Altesse*."

"Bonne nuit, Monsieur Arken."

With an internal sigh, knowing that he would almost never be addressed solely by his name, Jacob turned away with a small bow and exited the room.

Of course, he was still intrigued by what the two might say – so, he stayed near and ensured the door did not properly close.

 _What, exactly, is the purpose of this?_ _I won't sleep until midnight – and you know it – so I might as well spend the time between now and then doing something productive-interesting._ _So, you're saying that you're bored and have nothing better to do._ _Don't have to be so blunt about it._ _Yes, I do._ _Well… maybe._

The princess took her time in waking up her friend, preferring subtlety and gentleness at such an hour.

"Mmngh…?"

"It's been quite a while, Louise."

"Uahh…? Oh– Princess Henrietta? Why are you here?"

"Louise, you're my friend. What other reason do I need?"

"Aah, you shouldn't have come to such an unsightly chamber as this, Votre Altesse."

"You don't need to be so formal, please. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Oh, Princess – you are too kind."

"I wouldn't think so."

"Mmh…"

"You know, Lu*, I– I've wanted to see you all this time…"

"Henna?"

"Sorry, it's just— Ever since my father passed away, there hasn't been anyone that I can be open with. Nobody I can show my heart to."

"Aah… You know, I was touched when you sent me a letter – and very surprised. I didn't think you'd remember me."

"Of course I did, Lu. It's hard to forget your only friend from childhood."

"Ohh, Henna…"

"… Anyway, I have a request, Louise."

"What kind? You know I'll accept, no matter what."

"I'd like you to stay in the capital for a week or so, as a… well, as a spy."

"A spy?"

"Mmh. There's been some, ah, troubles at court and, at the same time, word of oppression on the commoners by nobility. I don't have anyone I can trust to look into the city's goings-on from those in the palace… Aside from the captain of my guards, that is."

"But you don't want to let them do it, since they guarantee your safety."

"Exactly. Now, I _really_ didn't want to make you do this, but there's nobody else that I trust to do the job unless I order Agnès to do it – she's the guard captain. You'll have to blend in with the common folk to get the info. Before you go, I'll provide you with everything you'll need."

"Is there a way to let her come as well, anyway? I'm… You know I won't be able to do all of it by myself."

"Maybe. I'm not too sure about it, though, Louise. It's, well—"

" _If you are ever in trouble, don't forget that you are not alone."_

—~~—

{2231}

The distinct, clear baritone of Jacob's voice had entered their conversation from the other side of the slightly ajar door. The nineteen-year-old pushed it open and made his way inside with a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, face unexpectedly clear of the dirt that had obscured it earlier.

"Before you continue, let me say that I have no malevolent intent towards any of the Royal Family of Tristain or those who are allegiant to them. Also, I have no form of loyalties to any of the other powers on this continent, as a Citizen of the long-distant United Empire."

The two young ladies stared a moment more, before recovering their manners and turning away. He made no attempt to hear what they discussed in whispers, though he certainly could if he wished to. Instead, he conversed internally with Bastien.

 _Do you know why they stared at me for so long?_ _I have a number of probabilities and possibilities, but no certainties._ _Ah. It is a troublesome thing, attempting to understand the way a woman thinks._

 _I… would disagree, but your point has just been shown to us quite clearly._ _Hehe. Anyway, what were some of your more likely probabilities?_ _Unexpected attraction._ _Huh?_

 _Y our voice has many qualities that are oft-considered appealing when you speak with full voice – as you did to be heard through the door – and your face can be seen as quite appealing in the same way, now that you have cleaned away your camouflage markings. Also, it is quite the late hour; thusly, they are not entirely in control of their subconscious minds and have notably delayed reactions._

…

 _Jacob?_

 _Well, then. That's a different situation to what I've been accustomed to._

 _True, true. Though, you were only actually flying with the Navy for a year._

 _Yeah. I'll have to figure out how to deal with this eventually._

 _Aside from that, they are ending their own conversation. You may wish to pay attention now._

Indeed, at that moment, Henrietta had turned her head to address him: "Monsieur Arken. Despite only having just met you, I have reason to believe that you are quite well-suited to assisting in this situation. As you have no doubt overheard our earlier conversation, you already know what will be done."

"Of course, Princess," he nodded. "My questions are when do you want to begin this? where are the best locations for info-gathering in the city? and how will we contact you?"

"Tomorrow, if you can. It won't be hard to find a dive bar. Unless you know a better system, I will personally contact you with a communication spell every night at midnight. To be sure of your identities, the code phrase you will begin each one with is, 'Always nice to walk the Sundown Path.' My reply will be, 'The Rippling Walls are as much a sight.'" Her answer was as sophisticated as a Senator's, without the rhetoric.

"Would a ciphered dead-drop not be simpler? Just give us designated areas to hide the message at a certain time and then come by to collect it some time later."

"What cipher would you choose? What locations would best suit a dead-drop in a crowded city? How can you be sure that the report would remain undiscovered?"

"Caesar cipher, Your Highness, which can be explained. I'm not sure, I don't know the capital as well as you do. And we don't – we rely on inconspicuousness and a given timeframe between drop off and pick up that has worked for people in the Empire that I hail from for at least a thousand years."

"Even so, the communication spell would be more secure and reliable."

"Well… I cannot disagree, since I have yet to see such a spell in person. If you trust that your magic is most suitable, then we will communicate through it."

"Then we have settled that. Louise, you have no qualms with being accompanied by Monsieur Arken, correct?"

The strawberry-blonde nodded, "Oui, Votre Altesse. He is certainly skilled in combat and, as a common soldier himself, knows how to live in a city with the example."

"Now, Monsieur," Henrietta said to him, "are you appropriately equipped for this mission?"

"The same sword I used to defeat Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth is secured in my lodgings, along with a rifled firearm. I also have this fighting knife for closer quarters." At that, his deactivated vibroblade came to hand, on display for the two young ladies to examine.

"May I?" A hand moved towards his own, pausing in time with the question.

"You may, Altesse."

Slender fingers grasped the knife by the hilt, brushing his palm briefly. _Warmer than I expected._ _She_ was _wearing gloves before._ Her hands and eyes evaluated the weapon more confidently than he had expected, noting its thickness at different points along the blade and examining its edge. After a moment, she gave a small nod of satisfaction and returned it to his own waiting hand.

"My father would say, 'Unusual craftsmanship.' But it appears very well made and feels purpose-built. A good blade."

"Your father was an aficionado?"

"He had always liked tools for self-defence and offence."

"I can see. He taught you some of it, did he not?"

"Oui, he did."

Louise then spoke up: "Pardon my sudden speaking, but I would like to know how you came to own this weapon, Monsieur Arken? I am curious."

"This knife was made by my own hands, mademoiselle," Jacob answered truthfully. "I did not create every single component, though I forged the blade and assembled the hilt myself."

"Truly?" she asked.

"Yes. It is a special item to myself, not in the least because of its usefulness in past times."

"Monsieur Arken," Henrietta interrupted. "I can see that you are not affected by this late hour, but I myself am. If you have no more questions, then I would appreciate your own departure as much as my own."

"Of course, Votre Altesse. Excusez-moi. I shall see you in the morning time, then, Louise. After your breakfast, in the West Courtyard, say?"

"Ah, oui," the strawberry blonde nodded.

With that, the young man left the room, bowing slightly as he did.

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Well, after some delay, it is here.**

 **— The chapters have slowly gotten longer, if you hadn't noticed, which is partly due to me wanting to fit more into each one.**

 *** _'Nihil'_ literally means 'nothing'. Bastien knows Latin, of course. [Why wouldn't he?]**

 ***I figured that they would have childhood nicknames for each other and that, out of the two of them, the princess would be much more likely to address her friend so informally in private.**

 **~ Jacob has AR contacts, as do most people in Star Citizen (unless they have bionic implants or augments to their eyes). This was partially mentioned earlier, but, if you didn't connect the initial mention to AR contacts or something similar before, this is how the mobiGlas interacts with his vision for things like the mini-map function and such.**

 **» Yet again, my thanks to everyone who has commented, favourited and/or decided to follow this story.**


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